


tokyo boy

by ichigoday



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Awkwardness, First Impressions, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Holding Hands, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichigoday/pseuds/ichigoday
Summary: “What’s your problem?” the taller of the two says in a low voice, muffled by a white mask.Atsumu flinches. He slowly looks up and finds himself swimming in deep black eyes, brows furrowed into a scowl.“Y-yer uniforms look like bananas!” he blurts out and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth.Real smooth, Atsumu. Real smooth.Atsumu goes to Tokyo on his own for the All-Youth Camp. It's daunting, being so far from home—from Osamu—for the first time, but he finds an unexpected source of comfort in Sakusa, once they move past their first impressions of each other.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 96
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	tokyo boy

**Author's Note:**

> sakuatsu fluff week - day 1: first times
> 
> canonically, atsumu and kiyoomi most likely met in their first year since both of their schools went to nationals then, but for the sake of this fic, let's pretend that didn't happen :)

Atsumu is over the moon when he finds out he’s been selected for the youth camp. He loves his Inarizaki team, don’t get him wrong, but the chances of him meeting his future professional teammates—and rivals—are high at the youth camp. He’s eager to go beyond his limits and try out new plays with other hand-picked players who are a match for him in drive and talent.

He’s vibrating with excitement for most of the week, rubbing it in Osamu’s face at every chance he gets. He’s excited, until he starts packing two days prior, when Osamu offhandedly comments, “Aww, baby’s first trip to the big city all by ‘imself.”

He only meant it as a taunt, but he’s right—Atsumu _is_ going to the big city all by himself for the very first time. He’s the only representative selected from Hyogo as far as he knows, maybe even all of the Kansai region. They’ve taken trips to Tokyo as a family before, but this time, they won’t be going with him. No one else from Inarizaki will be there with him.

 _Osamu_ won’t be there with him.

Atsumu’s bottom lip trembles and his eyes swell with tears as he continues stuffing his boxers into his duffle bag.

The car ride to Shin-Kobe is uncharacteristically quiet. The twins have been separated before—they’ve been in separate homerooms since last year—but never for this long or this far apart. It’s only for a few days, but it’s the implications about their futures that are casting a shadow of gloom over them.

Atsumu double, triple checks that he has his ticket in his pocket as the station pulls into view. There’s nowhere to park, so the drop-off has to be quick.

“‘Tsumu.” Osamu pulls Atsumu into a crushing hug and gives his back a firm pat. “Go kick ass.”

“I will,” he promises. “‘Samu.”

Without looking back, Atsumu heads into the station and boards the train for Tokyo.

Some of Atsumu’s nerves dissipate once the introductions are out of the way. He zeroes in on Kageyama at first. They’re both setters, after all. Kageyama is as awkward and innocent as first years come, and he’s easy to tease (all in good nature, of course). But then someone else catches his eye. Or rather, a pair of someones.

In his defense, the glaringly bright green and yellow uniforms are hard to miss. Most of the boys there are lone representatives of their school; they must be from some big shot school if two of them have been sent to this camp. He squints at the words on the backs of their jerseys. _Itachiyama Institute_. Atsumu racks his brain, trying to remember where he’d seen the name of that school before. _Itachiyama… Itachiyama…_ He’s thinking so hard, he doesn’t realize that they’ve started making their way over to him.

“What’s your problem?” the taller of the two says in a low voice, muffled by a white mask.

Atsumu flinches. He slowly looks up and finds himself swimming in deep black eyes, brows furrowed into a scowl.

“Y-yer uniforms look like bananas!” he blurts out and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth. _Real smooth, Atsumu. Real smooth._

“ _What_?”

The shorter boy doubles over in laughter.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean t’ stare!” Atsumu quickly apologizes. “I was just tryin’ t’ remember where I’d seen ya before.”

“And? Did you figure it out?” Despite the mask covering the lower half of his face, Atsumu can practically hear the sneer in his voice.

“He’s Sakusa Kiyoomi, one of Japan’s top three aces!” the other pipes up proudly, once he catches his breath. “I’m Komori Motoya. Libero.”

“Miya Atsumu.” He shakes Komori’s hand and then holds his hand out to shake Sakusa’s but finds himself left awkwardly hanging midair.

“Sorry, this guy doesn’t do handshakes,” Komori says apologetically.

Atsumu snorts. _Too good for handshakes, huh? Prickly, arrogant bastard._

“Hmph, top three ace? I’ll see it when I believe it,” he smirks, turning on his heel to rejoin Kageyama and the other setters. He hears Komori cackling again and freezes in his steps once he realizes he fumbled his words. His face burns with embarrassment as he hastily marches back to his spot.

Turns out Sakusa wasn’t bluffing after all. (Or rather, Komori wasn’t bluffing on behalf of Sakusa.) It takes them a couple of tries to sync up—Sakusa’s cautiousness follows him onto the court, and Atsumu’s not used to setting to someone so freakishly tall—but when it finally happens, it’s electrifying and unlike any other play he’s pulled off before with Osamu or Aran. Time slows to a stop as the ball lands on the other side of the court with a deafening slam that stuns the entire gymnasium into silence.

Shouts of “Nice kill!” echo around them, but Atsumu is still laser focused on Sakusa; everything else in the gymnasium is a blur. For a moment, their eyes meet, and Atsumu takes note of the color in Sakusa’s cheeks now that he’s no longer wearing the damn mask. His curls are slightly disheveled and a few stray hairs are plastered to his damp forehead.

_Oh, he looks good like this._

Before he realizes it, Atsumu’s legs are carrying him over to Sakusa on autopilot, like he’s being pulled in by some mysterious, external force. _“Nice kill.” Just say “Nice kill” like a normal person,_ Atsumu wills himself. _Or “Good job.” Literally, just say anything, Atsumu, before it gets too awkward._

“Not bad, Sakusa-kun,” he says with a smirk. Internally, he’s screaming at himself. Apparently, he’s forgotten how to talk to people normally. He blames Osamu.

To his surprise, Sakusa silently holds up his arm with his hand curled into a fist. Atsumu blinks dumbly for a few seconds before it dawns on him that Sakusa is waiting for him to return the gesture. He lightly bumps his fist against Sakusa’s, the brief contact sending a thrill down his spine.

“Nice toss, Miya-kun.”

Atsumu is convinced the universe is out to get him when he realizes that he’s managed to unintentionally choose the futon directly to the left of Sakusa’s. He turns his back to Sakusa and shuts his eyes, hoping the even breathing of the other boys will lull him to sleep, but after a few minutes, he hears rustling next to him. At first he doesn’t think much of it, but then he cracks an eye open just in time to see Sakusa’s lanky silhouette slip through the doorway.

Against his better judgment, Atsumu grabs his phone and quietly slides out of his futon. He makes sure no one else is awake as he tiptoes out of the room, silently thanking his many years of sharing a room with Osamu, and trails after Sakusa’s shadow. He turns the corner and finds Sakusa sitting on one of the benches in the lobby next to the vending machine, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone.

He looks ethereal, bathed in the dim light of the streetlamp outside. His alabaster skin is practically glowing, a stark contrast to his dark curls.

“Sakusa-kun,” Atsumu says softly so as not to startle him. “Can’t sleep?”

“Miya-kun.”

“Mind if I join ya?”

Sakusa pockets his phone and wordlessly scoots over so that he’s no longer sitting in the center of the bench.

“Hey, Sakusa-kun,” Atsumu says. “Sorry if I made ya uncomfortable this mornin’. I, uh, I think my nerves musta been gettin’ to me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sakusa replies. “I’m not so great with meeting new people myself.”

Atsumu chuckles sheepishly, and when he looks over, he can see a hint of a smile on Sakusa’s lips too.

“Anyway, you sure are lucky, Sakusa-kun,” he continues. “Ya didn’t hafta travel far to get here, didja?”

“My house is half an hour away,” Sakusa laughs dryly. “Honestly, I didn’t have to stay in the dorm, but Motoya made me.”

“He’s the libero from your school, right?” Atsumu says, and because he can’t help his big mouth, he asks, “So what’s up with you two? Are ya datin’ or somethin’?”

Sakusa’s face wrinkles with disgust and a jolt of panic lurches in Atsumu’s gut when he realizes he may have accidentally stepped on a landmine. What if Sakusa liked Komori but was too embarrassed or afraid to admit it? Or what if one of them confessed and got turned down, but they were still—

“Don’t be silly. Motoya and I are cousins,” he mutters.

 _Cousins._ Atsumu lets out a sigh of… relief?

“Sorry, had t’ ask.”

A few seconds of silence pass, heavy with words unspoken.

“So you came all the way from Hyogo,” Sakusa finally says.

“Yup. Took like three hours on the Shinkansen. ‘s my first time comin’ t’ Tokyo alone.”

“Aren’t you… homesick?”

Atsumu’s knee-jerk response is to go on the defensive and immediately deny it, but he’s pretty sure he and Sakusa are having a Moment™ right now, so he suppresses the urge.

“A little,” he admits. “‘m not used t’ bein’ apart from ‘Samu—my twin brother—for so long. I-I’m happy t’ be here, but it reminds me that ‘Samu and I aren’t always gonna be together, and I…” Atsumu bites his lip and wills every fiber in his body to stop himself from crying.

Fortunately, Atsumu never gets to that point, because suddenly Sakusa is turning to face him and pulling him into a seated half hug and Atsumu’s brain completely shuts down. He forgets what he had just been talking about and why he was even on the verge of tears in the first place, because _Sakusa is hugging him. Sakusa Kiyoomi, second-year spiker from Itachiyama Institute, is hugging him. Sakusa is hugging—_

Atsumu makes a confused noise that somewhat resembles a “Wuhh?” 

When they pull apart, there’s a light dusting of pink on Sakusa’s pale cheeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, standing up from the bench. “I should’ve asked you first—”

“N-no! It’s okay!” Atsumu impulsively reaches out and grabs Sakusa’s wrist to stop him from leaving; he’s not ready for their time together to end just yet. “I liked it,” he adds quietly. “I was just surprised, is all. I didn’t think you were the huggin’ type, Sakusa-kun.”

“I’m not,” Sakusa huffs.

Atsumu realizes he’s still holding onto Sakusa’s wrist, but he’s afraid that Sakusa will leave if he lets go. For someone who seemed so averse to touch earlier, he's surprisingly complacent right now. What if… 

“Hey, Sakusa-kun?” Atsumu whispers. “Stop me any time, okay?”

He slides his hand down so that his fingers are wrapped around Sakusa’s. Sakusa’s hand twitches but he makes no effort to pull away.

“D’you… wanna go fer a walk?” Atsumu suggests.

“Yeah, sure,” Sakusa breathes.

Atsumu stands up and readjusts his hand to intertwine their fingers, marveling at how comfortably they fit together. He’s held hands with people before, but they were all shorter than him, and the height difference forced their arms to bend awkwardly to accommodate each other. Holding Sakusa’s hand, though, feels as natural as breathing. He’s more than 400 kilometers away from Hyogo, but right now, it feels like home.

They wander around the neighborhood without direction, passing by apartment buildings and small offices and the occasional convenience store. Their shared warmth from where their hands are joined spreads through Atsumu’s entire body, making him impervious to the mid-November chill.

“I didn’t see ya at dinner,” Atsumu says pointedly.

“I was showering,” Sakusa replies. “I wanted to use the bath before everyone else got in.”

“Can I join ya tomorrow?”

“... fine,” Sakusa huffs.

As they walk, Atsumu chatters animatedly about Hyogo and Osamu and the rest of his teammates at Inarizaki and Sakusa listens with a soft, amused look in his eyes. They talk about everything and nothing.

Their hands never separate the entire time.

Eventually, the breeze starts to pick up, and it’s nearing midnight, so they decide to loop back around and return to the dormitory. Atsumu lays awake, staring at the lump of Sakusa’s back underneath his comforter. It’s tantalizing, sleeping so close to Sakusa and not being able to touch him. He already misses the feeling of Sakusa’s hand in his. Atsumu wonders if the others would notice if he pushed his futon closer.

The next day, Atsumu and Sakusa end up playing on opposing sides. Sakusa is undeniably the strongest hitter there, and it’s straight up terrifying being on the receiving end of his jump serves. After Sakusa scores his first service ace, Atsumu almost wants to give him the next one, just so he can see Sakusa’s lip curl up into a smirk again.

With each passing day, Atsumu grows more desperate to learn about Sakusa and uncover what lies beneath his seemingly impassive, taciturn exterior. Atsumu joins him for his early baths while the rest of the boys are scarfing down dinner in the cafeteria. They continue to sneak out for their walks after everyone falls asleep. One night, Atsumu trips over Hoshiumi’s comforter and nearly stumbles face first into the door. He attempts to muffle the giggles threatening to escape his lips; Sakusa’s already in the hallway, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. They were never explicitly given a curfew, but it still feels like they’re breaking a rule, and it’s exhilarating as hell.

Just under a week ago, Atsumu had been a bundle of nerves as he packed his bag through blurry, tear-stained eyes. The familiar feeling is starting to set in once again, but this time, it’s Tokyo— _Kiyoomi_ —he doesn’t want to leave.

Atsumu tugs Kiyoomi’s sleeve and ushers him to the side of the building, away from the prying eyes of Komori and the others. He takes Kiyoomi’s hands in his, the hands that he’d gotten to know so well over the past five days.

He looks into Kiyoomi’s eyes first, and then drops his gaze down to his lips—or rather, where he thinks they are underneath the mask.

“Can I…?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Atsumu lets go of Kiyoomi’s hands, and with trembling fingers, he pulls the mask down beneath Kiyoomi’s chin. Then he tilts his head forward, closes his eyes, and presses their lips together.

When he pulls away, Kiyoomi’s lips are still slightly parted and his cheeks are tinted rosy pink.

“Yer so pretty, Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu breathes, trailing a finger along his cheekbone.

Kiyoomi’s blush deepens and he averts his eyes.

“One more?” Atsumu asks, already leaning in. He loops his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist and kisses his cheek, followed by the corner of his lips.

“Don’t tease, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, aligning his lips with Atsumu’s for the second time.

They stay pressed together for a little longer. Atsumu rests his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder and revels in the synchronous beating of their hearts, the gentle rise and fall of their chests.

“I like ya, Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu says finally. “We don’t hafta date or anythin’—it’d probably be hard with the distance—but I-I just wanted you t’ know.”

“Atsumu, do you want to date?”

Atsumu lifts his head in alarm. “I mean, yeah! ‘Course I do, I just—”

“Then let’s date,” Kiyoomi says simply. “I like you too.”

“W-wait, but—we’re going to be long-distance,” Atsumu sputters. “Are ya okay with that?”

“I would rather date you long-distance than not date at all,” Kiyoomi mumbles, and Atsumu’s not sure his heart can handle Kiyoomi being so open and soft and adorable.

“I-I don’t know how often I’ll be able t’ visit Tokyo,” Atsumu says with uncertainty.

“You’ll be here again for nationals in two months,” Kiyoomi says.

“Two months…”

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu’s forehead and then the pout on his lips.

“You better get going before you miss your train,” he murmurs. “Motoya’s probably wondering where I am.”

Atsumu’s chest tightens. He wraps his arms around Kiyoomi for one last hug, burying his nose against the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck.

“I’m gonna text ya lots, Kiyoomi-kun,” he says, voice quivering. “And video call.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Kiyoomi-kun?”

“Hm?”

“We’re gonna beat ya and win nationals.”

“I look forward to it,” Kiyoomi smirks.

January comes and Inarizaki arrives in Tokyo, but they’re shepherded every step of the way, from their practices to the dorms to the matches. Their tightly packed schedules never quite align, making it impossible for either of them to slip away to meet up. Itachiyama is exempt from playing the first round, but they’re in practice for most of Inarizaki’s match against Karasuno. The second Kiyoomi’s done, he sprints over to the main court, forgoing a shower, and makes it just in time for the final set. It’s a grueling game that goes to thirty points; both teams look on the verge of collapsing, but in the end the win goes to Karasuno, and Kiyoomi wishes he was down there holding Atsumu in his arms.

Just two days later, Itachiyama suffers the same fate when their captain and setter Iizuna goes down to a fractured ankle. Everything after that is a blur. Kiyoomi vaguely remembers the match point, vaguely remembers bowing to the members of Inubushi and tidying up the court before sullenly trudging off to the locker room. Once he gets in the shower, he loses track of time—he’s not sure if he’s been in there for fifteen minutes or thirty minutes or an hour—but by the time he notices his skin prune and he comes out of the shower, everyone else has already cleared out.

When Kiyoomi finally finishes getting dressed and leaves the locker room, there’s a familiar head of blond hair waiting for him in the lobby.

“Atsumu,” he breathes.

“Ya sure took yer time, Omi-Omi.”

Kiyoomi lets his bag drop as he bounds towards Atsumu on sore legs and collapses against him in a bone-crushing hug.

“You played well,” Atsumu murmurs against the side of Kiyoomi’s neck.

“You too,” he returns.

“How’s yer captain doin’?” 

“I think he’ll be okay.”

“How about you, Omi-kun? How’re ya holdin’ up?”

Kiyoomi plants a long awaited kiss on Atsumu’s lips. For just a moment, the fatigue in their bodies melt away and they’re able to forget the wounds of their defeat. Nothing else exists in their world except for the two of them.

“I’ll be okay, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos are appreciated as always. feel free to follow me on twitter [@ichig0day](https://twitter.com/ichig0day)! i also have a cc if you wanna chat/ask me anything :3
> 
> [twitter post](https://twitter.com/ichig0day/status/1360889157065740289?s=20) for this fic


End file.
